Chapter 17 Giuliana #3
Soon. It’s not the immediate “yes” I was hoping for, but it’s more than I’ve gotten in weeks. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. After so many weeks of “no,” I’ll take “soon.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
Luca pulls me closer, his mouth near my ear. “I know you’ve been worried about him. I know this whole situation has been—” He stops, struggling for words. “I’m trying, Gigi. I’m trying to be better than the person who took you.”
He’s right. He is trying. I can see it in the accommodations he makes, the gentleness he shows despite his reputation.
But trying and succeeding aren’t the same thing. And there’s still so much I don’t understand about his plans, his motivations, what happens next.
The evening wears on, and eventually we’re cutting cake and making toasts and going through all the traditional wedding rituals that feel surreal. When it’s finally time to leave to head to the suite Luca has reserved at the city’s most exclusive hotel, I’m exhausted from maintaining my smile.
The car ride is silent, tense. Luca holds my hand but stares out the window, his expression distant. Whatever he’s thinking seems to be personal, and I don’t know how to help him—or if I even should.
The hotel suite is ridiculously ornate with a killer view of the city. But I barely notice the opulence because Luca is looking at me with an expression that makes my breath catch.
“Gigi,” he says, my name rough with emotion I can’t identify. “I need you to know—”
I silence him with a kiss, not ready for whatever confession he’s about to make. I’m not ready for reality to intrude on this one night where we can pretend this marriage is real, that we chose this, that we’re just two people in love rather than captor and captive playing at normalcy.
He responds immediately, his hands framing my face with surprising gentleness. “Wait,” he murmurs against my lips. “I need to tell you—”
“Tomorrow,” I interrupt, echoing his words from earlier. “Tonight, can we just—can we just be Luca and Gigi? Not revenge or alliance or any of the complicated shit. Just us.”
The conflict in his expression is painful to watch. But eventually he nods, and he’s kissing me with renewed intensity, his hands moving to the buttons at the back of my wedding dress.
The dress pools at my feet, and suddenly I’m standing before him in nothing but the lingerie someone selected for me—white lace and delicate fabric that makes me feel vulnerable and powerful at the same time.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Luca breathes, his eyes roaming over me. “Gigi, you’re—”
I pull him down into another kiss before he can finish whatever he was going to say. Because words feel dangerous right now. Better to communicate through touch, through the desperate way our bodies come together, through the heat building between us.
“Wait,” I murmur against his mouth, pulling back slightly. “I need—the dress, the makeup, all of it. I need to wash it off. I need to feel like myself again.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he nods. “The shower,” he says, his voice rough. “Let me—”
He takes my hand and leads me toward the bathroom, which is as ridiculously opulent as the rest of the suite. The bathroom was covered in marble and the shower could fit six people.
Luca starts the water, adjusting the temperature while I watch the play of muscles across his back through his dress shirt. When he turns back to me, there’s something almost hesitant in his expression.
“Can I?” he asks, his fingers hovering near the clasp of my bra.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and watch as he carefully removes the delicate lace, then the matching panties, his touch gentle. Then he strips off his own clothes—the tuxedo jacket, the shirt, the pants—until we’re both standing there naked and vulnerable in the steamy bathroom.
“It’s ready,” Luca says.
I step into the warm steam, and immediately a sigh escapes me as hot water cascades down my spine, melting away the tension and ache in my muscles. Ducking further, I let the water drench my face and hair, which suddenly feels very heavy…
“Oh no,” I breathe, reaching up to touch my styled hair. The water is making the intricate updo into a sodden, impossible mess. The dozens of bobby pins are still in, carefully placed by the stylist—and now they’re pulling uncomfortably as wet hair weighs everything down.
I try to find one, my fingers fumbling through the wet strands, but there are so many and I can’t figure out where they all are. Frustration builds as I pull at my hair, trying to locate the hidden pins while water streams down my face.
“Here.” Luca’s voice is soft, his hands coming up to still mine. “Let me.”
“You don’t have to,” I start to say, but he cuts me off with a finger to my lips.
“I want to.” His fingers slide into my hair, gentle and sure, finding the first bobby pin with surprising ease. He pulls it free carefully, then searches for the next one. “Turn around.”
I obey, presenting my back to him, and feel his body move closer. He’s not quite touching, but close enough that I can feel his warmth even through the hot water. His fingers patiently work through my hair, finding pin after pin and removing them one by one.
It’s intimate in a way that has nothing to do with sex.
His fingertips graze my scalp with each search.
It’s featherlight with exploratory touches that send tingles down the nape of my neck.
I feel my breath deepen and my skin gets more sensitive.
There’s a strange tenderness, a kind of aching vulnerability I hadn’t expected.
Each removal feels like he’s dismantling more than just my hairstyle.
It’s like he’s stripping away the performance of the day, the facade of the perfect bride, until only me remains.
“There must be a hundred of these,” he murmurs, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“At least,” I breathe, my eyes falling closed as his fingers continue their work. The sensation is hypnotic—the warm water, his gentle touch, the gradual release of tension as each pin comes free.
His fingers slide deeper into my hair now, massaging my scalp as he searches for the remaining pins. The touch sends shivers down my spine despite the hot water, and I feel myself leaning back slightly, seeking more contact.
“Almost done,” he says quietly, his breath warm against my ear as he leans closer to reach a pin near my crown. His chest brushes my back, and I feel his sharp intake of breath at the contact.
The last pin slides free, and suddenly my hair is falling loose around my shoulders, heavy with water but finally free.
Luca’s hands stay in my hair, his fingers combing through the damp strands with tender thoroughness, working out the careful styling until it’s just my hair again—wild and unruly and mine.
“Better?” he asks, his voice rougher now.
“Yes,” I whisper, then I’m turning in his arms, my wet hair clinging to my shoulders, water streaming between us. “Thank you.”
His eyes are intense, as he looks down at me. One hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. “You don’t need all that,” he says quietly. “The makeup, the elaborate hair, the performance. You’re beautiful just like this. Just Gigi.”
The way he says my name—with so much adoration—sends a shock through me. His mouth crashes onto mine, and I unravel completely. I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. This time, there’s no hesitation, no waiting for him to take control.
No, I’m commanding it, stealing his breath from him because it’s only fair.
Tilting my head, I deepen the kiss, tongue slipping out as I trace a small scar above his lip before diving in. He tastes like peppermint and everything I want to discover. He tastes like the world out there, and I want more, with an urgency in my veins and the throbbing need between my thighs.
It only takes seconds before Luca slips into that easy control.
Grabbing my thighs, he lifts me and shoves me firmly against the wall, making sure that there’s no room between us.
His growing erection nudges at my entrance, and it would be so, so easy, with how wet we both are, to slip him in, to chase that pleasure I already feel in my toes just by kissing him.
Dipping between us, Luca’s fingers pluck at my swollen bundle of nerves before reaching lower.
The second he finds my center, he slides two fingers in without permission or warning.
I bathe in the steady feel of his fingers and the way he continues to chase my lips even as I gasp and moan.
It’s almost as if he needs to devour the sounds each time.
“You’re so wet,” Luca murmurs, finger swirling against my entrance. “Fuck.”
I whimper, head thumping back against the cool tile. I hear a low growl come from him and I lift my head to see him turn off the water and shoulder open the shower door. The cool air kisses my soaked body and the water droplets splatter on the marble floor.
“Luca?” I protest, holding onto his shoulders as he leads me out of the bathroom and toward the massive bed. “We should towel off and—”
“Yeah nah, I don’t particularly care,” he tells me, placing me on the bed. The soft comforter clings to my skin, surrounding me as I settle into the plush mattress. Staring intensely at me he commands, “Spread your thighs, Gigi. Let me get a nice look at that beautiful pussy of yours.”
Face flaming because oh my god, I spread my legs and open up for him, letting him see everything in the dim light of the hotel room. Yet, I didn’t miss the darkness that clouds his gaze and the hunger within as he climbs over me.
“You belong to me,” he murmurs against my skin, but his voice cracks slightly on the words. There’s desperation underneath, an urgency that makes my heart race.
“And you belong to me,” I respond, meaning it with terrifying certainty.